


i know you're a star

by serendipitee



Category: GOT7
Genre: Barebacking, Body Worship, Dom/sub Undertones, Light breathplay, M/M, Mirror Sex, Physically Improbable Sex Positions, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Very much Undertones, there's a smorgasbord of stuff going on here folks and it's all dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 17:03:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17584811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipitee/pseuds/serendipitee
Summary: Jackson just wants to show Jinyoung what he sees.





	i know you're a star

**Author's Note:**

> this is. this is something i have been trying to finish for like two and a half months and i think it turned out okay! let me know what you think! also if there is anything i forgot to tag or you would like me to tag please let me know
> 
> title from [best part by daniel caesar feat. H.E.R.](https://youtu.be/iKk6_2-AAGc)
> 
> edit: also [i was right about jinyoung having titties. you're welcome world](https://twitter.com/flowerfacehobi/status/1100731150920749057)

“Stop looking away.”

Jinyoung’s insides burn, then his face, mortified. He looks into the mirror and sees a naked, cowed, embarrassed young man, pale legs spread out to either side, dick unashamed and swollen red in a hand that isn’t his right dead center. The wood floors under the workout machines are freshly waxed and the halogen bulbs buzz happily in the ceiling; the light bounces off of each available surface and leaves Jinyoung feeling exposed in every conceivable way.

There's a blurry mark on the glass Jinyoung's sweaty skin left just now, when Jackson pressed him there and fucked into him with his fingers and too much lube. He stares at it rather than having to look himself in the eye.

The face over his shoulder looks uncharacteristically serious, half-shadowed. “Why are you frowning like that?”

He digs his nails hard into the fabric hugging Jackson’s thighs. “It’s…” he mutters, choking a little when Jackson moves and squeezes his hand. “It’s. I can’t.” He casts his eyes away from the shamed look on his reflection. 

“Jinyoungie,” Jackson murmurs. “Look at yourself.” Fingers close around his jaw tighter than a vice, pressing hard enough for flesh to crush against the bone, painful enough to surprise him. When he gasps, Jackson jerks his head forward, toward the mirror. “Look.”

All he sees is the gaping of his own mouth, desperate, lurid red and pink, tongue thick and lolling to the front, and Jackson’s vascular forearms and hands, strong, unyielding under his chin, so tight on his cock it hurts, makes him want to squirm and plead. 

He doesn’t move yet, back straight and stiff. There’s still some semblance of pride in him. He sees it flash through his own eyes, defiant.

“Don’t you see?” Jackson asks, soft in his throat, so much less severe than his fingers. He breathes against the side of Jinyoung’s neck, ghosts his lips against the curve down to his shoulder. Jinyoung watches his stomach tense at the sensation and has to claw down the urge to close his eyes and blind himself to his own reactions. “This is why.”

Jackson has a lot of practice dismantling Jinyoung in every way, shape, and form. Changing up his sense of humor, making him question the way he thinks about the world and success and entertaining people for a living. More recently this, too: he’s gotten a lot of practice within the last year or so making Jinyoung feel unbelievably, incredibly, extremely good in bed. In bed, in venue bathrooms, at the gym, on the couch in Jinyoung’s apartment, crammed into the backseat of a van; Jackson’s made him beg and laugh and scream and sigh in inescapable pleasure for months. 

All of it has apparently led to this, a throwaway comment by Jinyoung post-workout, a self-deprecating joke about how Jackson was hot and strong and Jinyoung in comparison was neither. Jackson did not take it very well.

Jinyoung knows, at some basic unconscious level, that he is good-looking. He’s at least as symmetrical as every other idol. He has naturally good teeth. Since he and Jackson have been working out together regularly, he’s built up the muscles in his shoulders and arms. His butt is nice enough for fans and coworkers and members and friends and Jackson to comment on constantly. It’s uncomfortable for him to think any further than that, any deeper into his physical form, because that way leads to ruin and insecurity for nearly everyone. His wry sense of humor isn't actually a signifier of some deep discomfort with his looks.

But he should know by now that Jackson is the last person to come to with jokes like these unless he wants a thirty-minute lecture on every single good thing about him. Or in tonight’s case, the torturously slow stripping of his cock while he’s made to watch.

“Fuck,” Jinyoung moans on the upstroke. He wants to lean back, lever his weight onto Jackson's thighs so he can fuck into his hand while he rests his head on Jackson's shoulder, but the other boy still has a grip locked around his face.

“Look how good you look, Jinyoung-ah,” Jackson murmurs in his ear, low and close enough to send shivers down his spine. “Pretty cock, pretty legs. Your chest looks so full from all that lifting you've been doing.” He lifts his hand from Jinyoung’s crotch, ignoring his whine, and rubs his fingertips against Jinyoung’s lips, humming sweetly when Jinyoung allows him in instantly. 

Before Jinyoung can even get his wits about him and start sucking properly, Jackson’s snatching his fingers away, scooting closer to him on the workout bench so Jinyoung can feel the texture of his ribbed tank top against his back. Jinyoung watches Jackson’s reflection reach across his chest, an echo of every time he’s hugged him protectively from the back, every time he’s jokingly groped him with a bark of a laugh in his ear — only this time he’s stopping to cup around Jinyoung’s pec, sliding against his sweaty skin with wet fingers.

They both see the muscles in his thighs clench in anticipation. “Oh, baby. You know what I’m thinking, don’t you?” Jackson smirks at him in the mirror, swiping his thumb perilously close to Jinyoung’s areola. Jinyoung’s reflection bites his lip.

Jackson brushes over the nub of his nipple like it's an accident, just the slightest pass of damp fingertips, and Jinyoung's gut twists, pushes a hopeless, needy sound out of his mouth from below. Jackson does it again, more intent: he's slipping it between his fingers, rolling, pulling. The wet warmth, the tightness shoots through Jinyoung like an arrow, arousal trickling hot down his spine, throbbing in his cock. “Sseun _-ah.”_

Because Jackson wanted to do it like this, see him and expose him like this, it’s like every little thing that Jinyoung knows about the way his body reacts to Jackson is amplified. His nipples are already sensitive when he can’t see the way they go scarlet under Jackson’s steady, searching hands; now, it feels like every shiver that rocks through Jinyoung at his friend’s fingers shakes him deep to his core.

"This is just how you like it, huh." The only thing that Jinyoung can see of Jackson's face in the shadow of his hat is the hot, molten glint in his eyes. When he loses himself to the woozy, low-burning feeling of being touched like that, arches his back and cries out because of it, Jackson praises him. "Good, Jinyoungie. You’re doing so good."

Standing in the face of all his shame, the pressure in his stomach mounts; the heat behind and all around him makes him feel perilously close to something else, something that feels odd, discomfiting. 

Two pairs of eyes stare back at him from the mirror. 

His own are wide and overwhelmed and embarrassingly, awfully shiny. They're big and brown and desperate, needy in a way he absolutely _loathes_ to have looking right back at him. A shower of self-loathing, and need, and shame, and want rains onto him, pours down his back and races through his veins until his breath hitches in his chest, breaks. 

Warm wetness pools in his eyes. He sees the downward turn of his own plush lips, the fluttering muscles of his abdomen as he tries to push the tears away and a strange thrill runs down his spine.

"Baby," Jackson hums in unmistakable delight, sliding his hand down Jinyoung's jaw, grip loosening to cup tenderly around his throat. 

A single tear slides down his cheek. An electric shock shivers down his spine with it. 

“You like it, don't you? You like seeing yourself like this.” Jackson speaks with the self-assurance that always draws Jinyoung to him — has always drawn Jinyoung like a moth to flame, burning bright and warm and casting his light all over Jinyoung, bathing him in it, turning him gold. “Gorgeous, Jinyoung.”

He looks at himself again: sees the flush in his cheeks, the shiny track of a tear, his spit-slick mouth; his recently toned shoulders and arms and chest, hard-earned definition to rival Jackson’s own. The cinch of his waist. The strength in the musculature of his legs, a dancer's legs. The pink knob of his ankle.

His heartbeat thrums hummingbird-quick under Jackson's thick fingers, excited, overwhelmed. When Jackson drops his other hand to jerk Jinyoung's cock again, slow and tight, he presses down into the soft places in his neck where Jinyoung's pulse sings out to him, whispers low and honey-sticky into his ear just how beautiful he looks.

The hammer of Jinyoung's heart punches double-time under his grip, then melts down into a slow, slick murmur. The frantic spinning of his mind bumps, shudders, and rolls to a stop with the familiarity of Jackson’s hand around his throat. It doesn’t happen all the time. But when Jinyoung’s mind is spiraling at a thousand miles an hour, when he feels like the weight of the world is too much to bear, the sweet pressure of Jackson’s fingers, the steadfastness and surety of his grip never fail to melt the world around them into a colorful, meaningless blur.

He lets the tension down his spine unwind. His thighs spread further open, willing.

Jackson smiles, wide and genuine. He rubs the rough pad of his thumb under the head of Jinyoung's cock in approval, shifting closer to Jinyoung so when his head tilts back, groaning into the stale air of the gym Jackson's shoulder is there to hold him up. Jinyoung can see the elongated elegance of his throat under Jackson's hand just barely from this angle. His hand is just resting there, possessive.

"Please," he manages. He watches Jackson's eyes flick up from staring at his hand around Jinyoung's leaking dick to his face. "Please?"

"Hmm," Jackson says, feigning thoughtfulness. There's an evil glint at the edge of his smirk. "You have been really good, haven't you?"

"Jackson...." Jinyoung leans into the depth of the last vowel, makes his name sound like a moan more than anything else, goes throaty so his friend can feel his vocal cords vibrating under his fingers. 

If Jackson wants to play, he'll play. He'll make himself as irresistible as possible. “Hyung,” he hums, sultry.

Jackson tightens his hand, puts only an ounce of pressure on the sides of his throat, and Jinyoung gasps. He's close enough, wedged in between Jackson's thighs, to feel the way his dick twitches at the sound. Jackson's breathing down his neck heavier now. 

Jinyoung fights down the urge to smirk victoriously. When Jackson is in charge, when he puts himself in total control of Jinyoung’s pleasure, when he carries Jinyoung up and up into the clouds; when that happens, Jinyoung almost always prods and tests the boundaries of what he’s allowed to do.

When he does, Jackson always, always ends up giving him what he wants. _“God,”_ he sighs against Jinyoung's shoulder. “Beautiful, beautiful boy. Ride me.”

Jinyoung makes to turn around, twisting, but Jackson stops him. “No, no. Like this.” He sweeps both hands down the sensitive insides of Jinyoung's thighs, teases his balls with a light tickle of fingertips that makes Jinyoung want to scream. “I want you to see this, too.”

Jackson strips, throws his hat and shirt and shorts in a heap next to the bench. The hot head of his cock presses against the cheek of Jinyoung’s ass, smears precome indelicately there, but the radiating warmth of his skin and anticipation make Jinyoung's heart race all the same. 

His thighs tremble, leftover soreness from Jackson’s leg workout and the quick, slick way he prepped Jinyoung’s ass aching in his his lower back and down his hips. The whole lower half of his body feels tender and oversensitized like a bruise, and putting weight on his legs feels brutal but he does it, lifts and shuffles backwards into Jackson’s lap.

Jackson’s body is steady as a rock, legs flexing under Jinyoung, adjusting so he has a proper seat. When Jinyoung shuffles as far back as he can, Jackson’s cock slides down the crack of his ass, head rubbing against his rim. Jinyoung barely hears the strangled moan out of Jackson over the blood rushing in his ears.

 _“Fuck,”_ Jackson bites out. Jinyoung can only see his eyes over his shoulder. The dark edges in their gazes match, now, as Jackson breathes hot and wet against his shoulder. “Jinyoungie, fuck — ” he says, squeezing fingers around his hips, imploring him to sit up.

Jinyoung watches himself arch his back. The eagerness writ large in the lines of his body matches exactly with the sounds Jackson is making, needy and desperate to feel each other. He looks — good. He feels good knowing that they can get each other like this, spinning faster and faster in each other's orbit like twin stars. 

He lets himself watch.

Jackson sighs _“Jinyoung”_ as he sinks down on his cock. Jinyoung can see himself doing it, too, sees how his skin's gone all pink with exertion, sees Jackson's dick sliding into him deep, slow of his own accord, sees how his own erection bobs with the movement. Jackson's fingers press stark white circles into Jinyoung's sides when he circles his hips a little, sits all the way down, takes him all in. He breathes Jinyoung's name out again like the word itself is praise. “So tight and perfect, baby, perfect. You feel so fucking good every time.”

Jinyoung moans, dizzy with how good it feels to finally be filled up. The tiny subatomic space between his and Jackson’s skin flares and burns. It itches at him, simmers impatiently and curls in his gut and around his lungs when he moves, swivels, hitches his hips up and down and up and down. 

Jackson curses with feeling and pushes back, flexes and tenses and thrusts up into him. It sends Jinyoung leaning a little forward, and the head of Jackson’s cock rubs right up against his prostate, makes him cry out. He braces his hands wide across Jackson’s knees and rocks and rides him just like that, sparks flying behind his eyes. He looks up and sees the fervor bright in his eyes, the desire to get off, and doesn’t think to be embarrassed about it.

He can also see Jackson, his eyes glued to Jinyoung’s movements, hands sweeping over every part of him he can reach. Jackson touches him, talks to him, treats him like a precious thing every single time he has the opportunity. He’s sliding his hands down Jinyoung’s back, smoothing fingers over the swells of his ass when Jinyoung breaks, calls to him: “Sseun….”

Jackson leans into him, spreads his knees a little, fucks into the tightness of Jinyoung’s ass at the angle. “Yes, baby?” he breathes against the knobs of Jinyoung’s neck, ignoring the choked-off wail he’s just drawn out of him. When Jinyoung tilts back toward him, he wraps him tight in his arms, nuzzles at his ear when his head slumps down toward his shoulder. “Getting tired? I can take care of you.” His hand is scorching hot around his cock in the next instant, jerking him with no preamble or hesitation.

“Wait.” Frantic, he curls his fingers in the hair at the nape of Jackson's neck. That wasn’t the point of this. “Jackson, wait. Please let me see you. I just want to see your face.”

Jackson strokes his cheek with a tender brush of fingertips. “Okay, okay. I've got you.” He peeks around Jinyoung's shoulder and grins. “I have an idea.”

Jinyoung only catches on when his back is smacking against the mirror and Jackson is nestled all along his front, kissing him with so much fervor Jinyoung can't even tell how he's breathing. When he does pull away, it's so he can scrape teeth down Jinyoung's throat, licking and sucking and biting at the skin. He's sweating a little, and the chain around his neck shines under the dull humming of the overhead lights, reflects in the mirrored back wall.

“It's not like I think you should be vain,” Jackson muses as he bends down. He pulls Jinyoung's left leg up around his waist. “I just think that you should remember this whenever you feel down on yourself.”

Jinyoung wants to laugh at his overly serious tone, given the fact that their dicks are both out. “Remember you fucking me?”

“Remember how amazing you look when I'm fucking you,” Jackson corrects, wriggling his hips tight between Jinyoung's thighs. His cock brushes along the underside of Jinyoung’s balls and makes him tremble. “You always look amazing, but especially like this.” Jinyoung flushes, but doesn’t test the challenging look in Jackson’s eye. 

He wouldn’t have even had time to, because the next second Jackson is scooping up Jinyoung’s other leg, sliding his arm under the crook of his knee and pressing him fully up against the glass. Jinyoung yelps and clutches at Jackson’s shoulders at the sudden loss of footing, stomach flipping, skin shivering against the cool glass.

He maneuvers around, moves Jinyoung so his knees are up by his ears, hanging over his forearms like it’s the easiest thing in the world, grinning like a fiend the whole time. He’s wedged in and folded up like origami, made paper-thin and light by Jackson’s hands and strength. 

And this — Jackson smiling, slow and sexy and sweet before kissing Jinyoung, slipping his tongue into his mouth, coaxing him to unravel and unwind in his arms, sliding his cock into Jinyoung like it never left, shuddering all along his front when he bottoms out and hears Jinyoung’s hitching moans — this is what he wanted. 

When he opens his eyes, he can see the two of them in the mirror; miles of skin pressed against one another the way it should be, wound together. The tight muscles of Jackson’s legs and ass and back and shoulders with Jinyoung clinging to him like a lifeline, his coppery, growing-out hair wound through Jinyoung’s fingers, and right in front of him, so close he has to go cross-eyed to look at him, the sweet blushing curve of Jackson’s cheek. A complete picture.

“Hyung,” Jinyoung whines deep in his throat. “Oh, god, _Jackson.”_ He anchors a hand in Jackson’s hair, holding on for dear life as he gets fucked into the wall. The new angle, the position, the feeling of having all of Jackson's body pressed up against him is all overwhelming and before he even has a chance to think about it he's treacherously close to coming. Every pass of his sensitive cockhead against Jackson’s trembling stomach feels like torture.

Jackson's panting into his ear, arms shaking with effort. His breath on Jinyoung’s neck settles in a sparkling, moist blanket like dew. The minimal shadow on his jaw scrapes through the mist and across Jinyoung’s shoulder; his skin jumps and he tightens, startled, oversensitive, and Jackson groans loud and low in his ear in response, fucks up into him with renewed intensity.

The frantic pummels and passes by his prostate hurl Jinyoung far and away from any semblance of composure as starlight starts to bloom behind his eyelids. His sweaty hand slips down Jackson’s shoulder and catches on his diamond necklace, finger hooking around the chain, fingernails scratching unfeelingly down his back.

“That’s it,” Jackson says, breathlessly close himself, warm and wide and knowing eyes glued to Jinyoung’s face. “Yes, baby, come on.”

The chain goes taut in Jinyoung’s hand, tight under the bob of Jackson’s Adam’s apple. Then, in an instant, it breaks, and Jinyoung comes with a shattered cry.

Jackson notices the diamonds sliding off his neck with a startled laugh, then — “ah, _fuck, fuckfuckfuck”_ — he comes too, deep and slick inside Jinyoung, with half a smile still on his lips.

They collapse gracelessly onto the floor together, panting at the ceiling in exhaustion the same way they had an hour and a half before following their grueling workout. Jinyoung feels Jackson’s gaze on the side of his face without looking but he’s too exhausted to try and figure out what exactly it is that his friend wants from him.

When he does turn, Jackson’s already wormed his way close and he’s fondling the chain Jinyoung broke, probably worth half his monthly salary. “I’m sorry.”

The weight of Jackson turning his attention onto him makes the diamonds seem like glass in comparison. He kisses Jinyoung on his puffy, slick mouth and chuckles into it. “It’s just the clasp. It was worth it, anyway.” 

Jinyoung bites down on his smile, heart swelling. The pleasant feeling quickly gets overruled, though, by the more pressing urge to deal with things oozing out of certain places. “Are you ready to go home?”

“Home?” Jackson says, somehow incredulous. “Before cool-down?”

Jinyoung doesn’t understand.

Jackson gives him the evilest kind of smirk. “Roll over.”

— Oh. 

Maybe after the cool down.

**Author's Note:**

> come visit me on twitter if u wanna [@sunnyseunie](twitter.com/sunnyseunie)!!


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